Up Above the World So High
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: Russia says goodbye to the world's first space traveler. Laika-centric.


Kudryavka wasn't very pretty, Russia had to admit. He had seen beautiful dogs before, but she wasn't one of them. Her ears were large and bat-like and she had a funny curly tail. Some parts of her looked terrier, other parts looked husky, and he couldn't imagine what the rest of her pedigree was. She was a mutt through and through, but that didn't matter one bit. It wasn't her mismatched appearance that anyone remembered; it was her oddly intelligent eyes, and her patience, and the way she seemed to understand every word you said to her. She was a special dog, a loving, gentle, sweet dog. And they were going to kill her in the name of progress and science.

"Are you still here, comrade? It's getting late."

Russia turned to look at Dr. Yazdovsky. The man stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest sternly. Russia had never been able to intimidate the army doctor, and respected him in a way for that.

"I just came by to see Kudryavka, doctor. That's all," Russia said innocently, backing away from Kudryavka's cage. The dog gave a happy little bark as she recognized the doctor, wagging her curly tail furiously.

"This is hardly a good time for it," Yazdovsky said sharply, sparing only the briefest glance at Kudryavka.

"Why not? Her tests are done for today. I won't bother her. I just wanted to see her for a bit..." Russia paused, and then continued hopefully, "...and maybe take her for a little walk?"

"Absolutely not. It's freezing outside. We can't afford for anything to happen to Kudrya-...Laika. There isn't enough time to replace her."

"I'll keep her inside my coat. She'll be warm there. And she used to be a stray on the streets of Moscow. She must be used to harsh weather, da?"

Yazdovsky looked as though he wanted to protest (it wasn't much of a walk if she was being carried, was it?) but instead he sighed and pulled a hand through his thinning hair.

"Listen, Braginski-"

"It will only be a short walk, doctor. A very, very short one, I promise. I...I just want to talk to her for a little bit. Say goodbye."

Yazdovsky's eyes softened a little at that.

"I won't have another chance, of course," Russia pressed. "She'll be busy all day tomorrow in preparation for her launch, and the day after that-"

"She leaves for the launch site. ...Fine, I'll give you twenty minutes. Not a second more."

"Spasibo, doctor."

"I mean it, Braginski. If you aren't back in twenty minutes, I'll come after you."

"I know you will, doctor."

"And one more thing, comrade...she can't 'disappear.' She can't 'run away.'"

"She won't. I'll be watching her very closely."

"You won't be the only one to burn if anything happens to that dog, Braginski. Sputnik II has to launch on schedule, and Laika has to be in the spacecraft."

"I like her old name better. Kudryavka. Laika doesn't suit her as well."

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?!"

"I have, I have. I'm sorry, doctor. She will be back in twenty minutes, I promise."

"I'll be waiting, comrade."

Kudryavka leaned forward eagerly when Russia opened her cage, but went obediently still when he picked her up and tucked her into the front of his coat. He must have looked silly, he realized, hugging that bundle under his coat like a thief or a kidnapper.

"Twenty minutes," Yazdovsky reminded him once more on the way out.

It _was_ freezing outside. It had been chilly all day and the temperature had only dropped further since the sun had gone down. He hugged his arms around the warm lump of Kudryavka's body, and felt her short legs kick against his chest. There was a park bench nearby, and after brushing a layer of snow off it he took a seat, opening his coat enough for the little dog to move around.

"Sorry, Kudryavka," he said as she squirmed in his lap, trying to find a comfortable position. "I'd let you down, but Yazdovsky would be angry if I let you play in the snow. Your little paws might freeze, and where would we be if that happened?"

She settled down then, lying down across his knees. How did she always seem to understand what people said to her? She couldn't possibly know what all the words meant. Most likely it was just his tone that she responded to.

"Isn't it cold tonight?" he asked. "It doesn't bother me much anymore, but I worry about a little dog like you. Even with your fur coat, it must be cold. We won't stay out too long. I'm sorry it isn't warm enough for you to run around outside. It would have been nice if you could, one last time."

She turned to look at him, tipping her head to one side curiously.

"Do you understand what is going to happen? Do you-" He had to stop and clear his throat; the cold air was making his chest feel tight. "You don't have very much longer to live. Do you know that? We...we don't know how to bring a spacecraft back from space yet...we can't bring you back after your launch. I-I wanted to wait until we had learned how, but Khrushchev- do you know Khrushchev? My boss? Khrushchev says we have to put Sputnik II up by the anniversary of my revolution. We only had a month to build Sputnik II, so of course there was no time to find a way to bring it back. You understand how it is; I can't say no to my boss. And he's right, of course. It's important to not slow down at all. We have to keep going strong."

He forced himself to stop, watching the fog of his breath fade into the air. Kudryavka sat up in his lap, facing him with a child-like seriousness. He scratched her behind the ears, and she nuzzled against his hand.

"You were always my favorite. Of all the dogs in our space program, you were the sweetest, the most patient. Why do you put up with it, day after day? Why don't you struggle when we put you in the centrifuge, or bite us when we try to put on your flight suit? The others do, you know. But not my Kudryavka. Not my good girl. _Good girl_," he repeated, because he knew she understood those words. Sure enough, her curly tail started to wag again.

"You're going to go up very high in the sky, Kudryavka. Higher than anyone else. Will the view be beautiful? I hope it will be. That's all I can give you now. I'll make sure that the whole world knows your name, that everyone sees you as a hero...but what do things like that matter to a dog? A man might appreciate such honors, but I doubt it means much to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that the hope of a pretty view is all I can give you now. I'm sorry for what we have to do to you," he whispered, and his throat nearly closed when she put her paws against his chest and reached up to lick his chin. It was too much to hope for that she had understood and forgiven him. No, it was just that strange empathy that some dogs possessed that made her lick his face and lean her warm little body against him. It seemed so grotesque that _she_ would be trying to comfort _him_, the damned having pity for their own hangman, and he gathered her up in his arms. He felt her rest her chin against his shoulder, perfectly relaxed in his embrace. It wasn't fair. She was the only one who had never been afraid of him, even when she had more reason to fear him than anyone else. The cold wind had picked up and was starting to make his eyes sting and his chest hurt, so he just held her quietly until it was over. The feeling took a while to go away even after the wind died down.

Their time would be up soon, and it wouldn't do to get Yazdovsky riled up by being late. Reluctantly Russia stood up again, carefully balancing the dog against his shoulder and trudged slowly back through the snow.

Yazdovsky was fiddling with a dog carrier when Russia returned.

"Fourteen minutes," he said with a little nod. "Did...ah, did you have a nice walk?"

"Da," Russia answered, privately glad that his voice sounded steady again. "We just talked for a bit."

"She's good for talking to, isn't she," Yazdovsky said with a sad little smile that looked out of place on his normally stern face.

"The best listener I know, da," Russia agreed, carrying her back to her cage.

"Wait a minute, comrade," the doctor said suddenly. "Put Laika in her carrier instead."

"Why? Where is she going this late at night?"

If the smile had looked strange, the embarrassment that stole across the man's face looked even stranger. "With me," he answered, avoiding Russia's eyes. "I'm taking her home with me. Just for the night, mind you. She'll be back tomorrow morning. And since I allowed you to take her for a last walk, I hope I can trust you to keep this a secret."

"Certainly, but why-"

"Do you remember when we first brought her in? She was a filthy little stray. I doubt she's ever lived like a pet before. So I...I thought it would be nice to let her sleep in a warm house, play with my children...live like a dog should. Just for one night. She deserves one night of a normal life before she...before the launch."

"She'll like that, I'm sure," Russia answered as he put Kudryavka into the carrier. "I would have liked to do the same, but I don't have a normal family for her to enjoy."

"No? No wife or kids? Well, you're still young."

"Not that young, doctor."

"Young compared to me. Humor me, you make me feel old," Yazdovsky insisted as he lifted the carrier. Russia had to hide a smile behind his hand. "I should get going now, comrade. We'll be busy tomorrow, but once this is over I'll buy you a drink. We've earned one."

Once this is over. After Kudryavka is dead. Yes, he'd need a drink then.

"I'll take you up on that, doctor," Russia managed past the sharp object that had lodged itself in his throat. "And...and one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"She _will_ be euthanized, won't she? Once she's in space, she'll just be given a drug and go to sleep, right? She...she won't starve up there, or suffocate, or..."

"No," Yazdovsky said firmly, and stepped closer to put a hand on Russia's shoulder. "She'll be put to sleep after a week of orbiting the earth. She won't suffer, comrade. Don't worry."

"Th-that's what I fear the most about all this. That her death will be slow and painful." He cut himself off there, uncomfortably aware of how close he was to breaking down in front of Yazdovsky.

"It won't be," the doctor insisted, with more kindness than Russia thought he was capable of. "She'll just fall asleep. That's all." The hand on his shoulder tightened, and then moved away. "Go get some sleep, comrade. You'll need to be well rested for tomorrow."

"You too, doctor. Sleep well. And take good care of Kudryavka."

"Of course." Yazdovsky gave him another rare little smile before lifting the carrier back up again and heading out the door. "Oh, and comrade..." he called over his shoulder, "I know this is difficult for you, and believe me, it's hard for me too, but try not to look so glum. We _are_ making history, you know."

Kudryavka, forever the expert at reading the atmosphere, barked her goodbye down the hallway. The sound got fainter and fainter as the doctor and dog got further away, and at last it was gone.

Historical Notes:

Laika was the world's first space traveler. She was originally a stray from Moscow, believed to be part terrier and Siberian husky; it was believed that strays would fare better in space, since they were used to living in harsh conditions. The scientists who trained her named her Kudryavka (meaning Little Curly, for her curly tail) but her name was changed to Laika once she was selected to ride in Sputnik II (Laika means barker, and it's also the name of a breed.) She was also called Zhuchka (Little Bug) and Limonchik (Little Lemon) at different times, and after her launch she was called Muttnik in the US.

Sputnik I was launched on October 4, 1957. Khrushchev ordered another spacecraft to be built in time for the 40th anniversary of the October Revolution, which was only a month away. It was a ridiculously short deadline, but no one wanted to say no to Khrushchev. It's impressive enough that they managed to churn out a spacecraft, but they had to cut a ton of corners along the way. Additionally, they didn't have time to develop the technology to retrieve spacecrafts from space, so they knew from the start that Laika's voyage was a one-way trip.

Sputnik II launched on November 3, 1957. It was originally reported that Laika survived for several days in space, but in truth she died from overheating and stress only four hours after the launch. They had originally planned euthanize her, but because of a malfunction she suffered what was no doubt a painful and difficult death. Even without reporting the truth about her death, there was a ton of negative backlash about the incident; people around the world were angry that they were letting an innocent dog die, and animal rights debates flared up. There was less controversy in Russia, and Laika was treated like a national hero for a little while.

Laika had a very sweet personality that made her much loved among the people who worked with her. One of those men was Vladimir Yazdovsky, who was also head of the research group to study manned spaceflight (work with dogs was the first step in that project.) He later wrote that "Laika was quiet and charming," and took her home to meet his family right before her launch. "I wanted to do something nice for her," he wrote. "She had so little time left to live." Another one of the scientists was Oleg Gazenko, who's words of regret about Laika are often quoted: "Work with animals is a source of suffering to all of us. We treat them like babies who cannot speak. The more time passes, the more I'm sorry about it. We shouldn't have done it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog."

By the way, if any of you want to read something really awesome and sad, check out Nick Abadzis' graphic novel _Laika._ It's a major tear-jerker, I can't read it without crying. It's really charming and well researched too. Read it!


End file.
